


The overworked brat

by heme



Series: Chemistry student Deidara [5]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, M/M, Somewhat serious crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25287019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heme/pseuds/heme
Summary: Deidara was hellbent on proving Sasori wrong, that he has not been overworking himself.
Relationships: Deidara/Sasori (Naruto)
Series: Chemistry student Deidara [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1813744
Kudos: 11





	The overworked brat

**Author's Note:**

> riiight, seems like AO3 accidentally swallowed up this certain work so that it technically wasn't published in the fandom. This is me reposting the one I submitted 10 hours ago. 
> 
> rip Deidara.
> 
> I was PMSing particularly heavily on the day I wrote this story, so beware of irritated self-inflicted lashdowns. 
> 
> Enjoy.

The trigger began at an organic practical with Gari.

As the ventilating chambers were rather bulky, and takes up a drastic amount of the laboratory space because of their size and quantity, they were placed at the edges of the room. In the middle were benches of experimental instruments, some commonly used reagents, with bottles after bottles of solvents for chromatography and reactions.

For easier treatment of practical data, the data collected were processed on the very same benches. Standing upright while bending down to write can potentially cause stresses around waist muscles, and some poor student therefore made a request to the technician, begging them inside an e – mail to invest in some stools. Since the efficiency of their underlings were quite important to the turnover rate of their practical centres (face it – nobody wants a bunch of silly undergrads loitering around), the technician granted their wish without evident delay.

And incoming were dozens of plastic seating covered in polyethylene film, which nobody fancied to remove, for the better as it provided a barrier to damages dealt by reagents.

It was obvious that Deidara was a frequent user of those seats, and after determining the most artistic one out of the tens, it became his favourite place to handle experimental data on the spot. Gari took immediate notice of the blond’s preference, and drafted up a little prank that was dubiously quite damaging.

When Deidara was injecting reagents via a syringe into the sealed round – bottom flask, his back facing Gari, the sculptor’s partner caught on this exact time and poured some dichloromethane on Deidara’s favourite seat. The unsuspecting victim, after fifteen minutes of drop – by – drop labour above an ice bath, turned around amidst the flashy speech of why was art fleeting and squashed his arse onto the puddle of solvent lying on top of the bench surface.

Anyone who has experience handling dichloromethane knows that this solvent could seep through the nooks and crannies of nitrile gloves, leaving a hot, burning feeling on patches of skin it has graced with its gentle caress.

Woe to Deidara, his most delicate areas directly in contact of the solvent.

After Deidara belted out screams of “who the fuck poured DCM on a chair, _un_!” and feeble subsequent attempts at being unruffled accompanied by Gari’s rich laughter, Deidara was traumatised perhaps for future good. Even though Gari was so compassionate to his own partner’s misery to the degree of using his own practical sheets to fan away the solvents on Deidara’s butt, thus accelerating the evaporation process of the organic volatile, the sculptor would never again in his lifetime sit on a laboratory stool.

The blond, later stepping out of the lab, zipped his and Gari’s mouth tight about this event lest Sasori caught onto the gist and Deidara would never hear the end of the public humiliation. Threats of putting explosives in Gari’s crotch were involved in the process. Imagine, spend a second and imagine: the sheer ear – splitting pain caused to Deidara by “The Brat in the Lab”, story written and illustrated with graphic descriptions by yours truly – Sasori Akasuna, and delivered to the general audience in the merry tunes and rhythms of “The Cat in the Hat”. Solid entertainment at the expense of someone else’s suffering indeed.

Perhaps for once, standing upright whilst simultaneously bending down to scribble and work through experimental data can be tolerated, but repetitively doing so evidently fatigued Deidara’s neck muscles and made hunching a habit of the sculptor’s. Once, Deidara was again hunched at a right angle over while working through one of his problem sets along the electric circuit – designing Sasori in one of the Costas near the town’s shopping centre, Sasori made a snide remark that the brat’s going to break his neck someday later on if the hunching continues, and he will be far better off if his Danna fixes him a mechanical body instead. Deidara’s response was blowing a wet raspberry into the clean – freak puppeteer’s face, resulting in Sasori throwing his cup of coffee into Deidara’s eyes, producing a series of ruined eyeliner and hair and so on so forth. But it was certainly worth it.

Time drags on, with an increasing workload and the blond’s utter refusal to give up sculpting on an unelevated surface, Deidara was getting too of a frequent neck and shoulder pains. A burning, bone – marring sensation that would randomly strike, even though he was sitting upright at the time. Exercising via stretching and slow relaxation would alleviate the symptoms for short periods of times, possibly around two hours on average, and the discomfort would then come creeping back onto Deidara’s muscles and joints.

It was after an especially heavy late – night session of working clay that Sasori’s prediction came true. The next morning, Deidara was in one of his hair – care episodes, following the meticulous application of a homemade coconut oil hair mask, the chemistry student was combing through his hair to detangle some of the knots that has accumulated over the period of exactly three days and an hour. There was an especially complex knot, something that would not loosen even if applied an excessive amount of lubricant upon. The option of cutting out the ball of labyrinths would be outright denied by the blond, between shortening his hair (definite no) and brute force, he decided to apply an inflated quantity of friction on the comb and his hair, by turning his upper torso and arms in reverse directions.

A snap was heard. The hardwood comb was alright, nothing on it was broken, but what was not alright was Deidara.

At the same instant, albeit delayed for a few hundred microseconds, was a notably loud scream of “shit”. Proceeded by Deidara hunched down on the floor in massive visible pain, clutching Jashin – knows – where exactly the agony was coming from.

The blond’s first coherent thought was that Sasori – no – Danna shall not hear about this event. And he gripped onto his neck, in a pathetic attempt to stable his breathing. Deidara was especially energetic in his early teenage years, and as a result, he has obtained multiple fractures as some kind of a badge of acknowledgement over his limbs. Yet none of them were infuriatingly uncomfortable compared to this fucking crack, a simple coordinated movement such as breathing can spasm continuous waves of misery.

In very slow and dampened motions, Deidara grabbed his phone, an ID, along with his certificate of medical insurance, then headed straight to the university hospital, limping on the way out. It was a delicate balance between a lame upper body and a normal walking posture, since the latter, when contacting one’s foot with the ground, can send vibrations throughout the body that triggers supplementary irritations to the already awkward current situation.

At this rate, Deidara’s injury would intensify positively with respect to the length of walks that he takes. A ten – minute drive to the university hospital was more than forty – five minutes’ worth of walking, and the only one amongst them with a driving license and a car was Itachi.

The blond knocked on Itachi’s door. Not expecting a wounded Deidara’s sudden visit, Itachi was to say the least, surprised, dark eyes widening at the chemistry student.

“How may I help you, Iwa?”

“Uchiha.” Deidara glared.

“That was unexpected. You paying me a visit.”

“Don’t think too highly of yourself, Uchiha. I’m not paying you a visit, only asking you for a favour, un.”

“And what would that be, asking a favour from your sworn enemy?”

“Drive me to the hospital, un.”

“Why am I not even surprised, Iwa?” Itachi’s intonation, albeit an amused salty, was as tasteless as water – mineral water instead of distilled water.

Deidara sneered in response, “If I haven’t broke my neck, Uchiha, then you’re dead in an artistic blast right at this instant, un. Actually, screw the artistic part, your presence can pollute a piece of art into an unartistic pile of shit.”

“As if you contain the capabilities of doing something else than that, Iwa.”

“As if you contain the capabilities to appreciate art, un. Sasori – no – Danna, even with his mistaken views on what consists art, is leagues better than you, Uchiha.”

The raven denied Deidara’s unspoken request of turning this into a tug – of – war of sentences starting with ‘as if’, followed by each and every single one of their flaws, “Iwa, do you want me to drive you to the hospital or not?”

Deidara was torn between bruising his ego or further damaging his neck, and settled on the former, since egos can be self – repaired without seams, but not destroyed bones.

“Isn’t that an obvious yes, Uchiha? I thought your Uchiha smartness could provide you with an answer about that, un, but apparently not.”

Itachi was about to reply with a “Here I thought your ego the size of a galaxy is blocking your brain”, and decided upon it was useless arguing with someone as stubborn as the blond, thus remained silent.

After an awkward and silent ten - minute drive, and several referrals later, Deidara was taken to the medical imaging room. The X – rays has shown although even none in all of his neck vertebrae were fractured, but one has dislocated out of its usual position as a consequence of untreated cervical kyphosis. Physical therapy was prescribed, along with wearing a cast for three days in order to stabilise the injury.

Three days.

Seventy – two hours.

Two hundred fifty-nine thousand and two hundred seconds.

That was one hell of a long time.

Sasori – no – Danna would definitely smell the incoming wind, and if the cast was not worn, there would be a higher chance of future dislocations. Again, it was a choice between ego and health, and Deidara begrudgingly chose his health.

Itachi has already driven his car back to the student parking, leaving Deidara to walk on foot back to his dormitory room. On his planned route there was a café that Sasori frequently visits, because of their artisanal bean collections that were unavailable in the pantry, and Sasori was apparently too lazy to fix a coffee for himself by himself. Deliberately avoiding the café would appear as a weakness from the sculptor’s part, and his brash outlook on life successfully prevented him to do so. Heading straight home without turning to a frequently unused alleyway was the sole option, it seems like, and it was best to act natural in order to prevent unwanted suspicions from the redhead.

And around the café, Deidara saw Sasori headed back to his dormitory with a cup of coffee in hand. The blond entered a brisk walk to catch up with the shorter male, and tapped Sasori on the shoulder with a shit – eating grin.

“Well, Sasori – no – Danna, didn’t expect to see you here, un.”

Sasori turned around, immediately noticing that Deidara was hiding something ominous, “Brat.”

“Not even a hello, Danna, un? When have you become like that, I’m so hurt.” Deidara rolled his eyes.

“I’m always like that, brat. And why are you out here with your hair not even fully fixed?”

“Just trying out a new style, un.” Deidara tried to brush off the incoming doubt.

Sasori scoffed at Deidara’s lame excuse, “You are not serious, brat, I can distinguish what’s a new style and what’s messy hair easily, thank you very much. And what might that be, the plastic fixed on your neck?” Always clear and straight to the point.

The chemistry student was smirking to hide his nervousness of being exposed, “A decoration, un. It’s all the fashion nowadays.” Though Deidara was never one to care about fashion, he deems it was for the unsophisticated with no individuality nor taste.

“Really?” Sasori hummed, walking behind Deidara, and took the _decoration_ off, “The shape oddly fits the natural curve of the human neck…” he mused, then raised his hand so the side of his palm was facing the portion where the cast previously covered, “I do wonder…”

And slammed the stiff outer edge of his dominant hand onto the blond’s vertebrae. The one who has their neck just barely counted as fixed at the hospital let out an earth – shattering yowch of pain, since the evident lack of muscles around the area did not provide any type of shielding. Sasori’s placid frown switched to an I – told – you – so smirk, while barricading his ear drums by applying the typical treatment if there was an explosion nearby – actively opened Eustachian tubes and equilibrated mouth. His guess was nothing less than right.

“Stop hiding things in front of me, brat. Next time, try to improve your horrendous acting skills before pulling something like this.”

Deidara was too busy wrapping his pride in shock absorbers to pay any further attention to additional potential damages. What, an engineer to the bone such as Sasori – no – Danna might jab, was the damping enough to be critical? It may be applicable that humans can predict the total sets of truths fully, but never the endless possibilities. The future was an open – ended question.

But it seems like the balance was severely tilted towards Sasori being his typical sassy.

With the brat too embarrassed to say anything.

Sasori tutted every single one of his words, revelling in the satisfaction obtained by proving Deidara wrong, “I told you that you’ll break your neck someday, brat. I was right again.” Deidara was going through his mental checklist of objects that he had brought at the slam dunk, under usual occasions, he would have a pair of earplugs in his pocket, but the vertebra dislocation was an unexpected emergency. Perhaps it was so that drastic situations will result in drastic measures, ones such as not realising the exact need of said earplugs can arise. He deems running off into the opposite direction under the illumination of sundrops was for pansies, though erecting physical blocks through the use of earplugs can be essentially boiled down to the same conclusion.

More of an excused defence of humiliation and shame.

The sculptor snapped back, “I didn’t break my neck, un. It’s only a dislocation.”

“Not much difference, brat.” Sasori shrugged, “Either way, you’re disabled for the time being because of your sheer stupidity.” He then sighed in sick delight, “Only if you truly value your health through the comprehension of eternity you can avoid this mishap. Oh, and brat, did you know that one such injury will weaken that body part virtually for the rest of your life?”

The gathering of dark clouds over Deidara’s head could call forth the use of a ground rod at this rate. His reckless temper flared up at the provocation, “I don’t need your so – called help and fake sympathy, Sasori! Just leave me alone!”

“I didn’t even claim to have give you any help, brat.” Sasori blinked, before Deidara could storm off in rage and the engineering student slip in a snide remark about the lack of ‘un’ and ‘Danna’, “So how come I gave you any –” the redhead putted air quotes around the phrase, “– _so – called_ help?”

Deidara swear that he will be sent to the university hospital for the second time in a day from the internal bleeding caused by a ruptured artery. Or perhaps falling into major depression from Sasori’s verbal abuses, and requiring a watered – down version of electroconvulsive therapy, the relatively new – developed convoluted and ‘statistically significant evidences (p = 0.05) indicating that the therapy works is inconclusive’, transcranial magnetic stimulation. Only that Deidara was a chemist – in – training by trade, with the abhorrent tendency to go all over “show me the protein”, when presented with relaxants and buffers, not unlike molecular biologists and their “show me the genes” as their rebuttal to the punctuated equilibrium model. What a bunch of creeps.

However, the missed sarcastic comment was announced by Deidara, “What, Danna, not even noticing I haven’t addressed you as ‘Danna’, and missing my trademark ‘un’, un? I mean, the start of the whole process of falling into stupidity has tell – tale signs such as decreased awareness.” The blond smirked, turning the fallen tables around.

Sasori opened his lazy half – lidded eyes, searching for a riposte at lighting speed, “Psychiatric evaluations are often very subjective, brat. Can’t believe you actually forgot that, but if taken into account of your inferior intelligence, the outcome is quite convincing.”

Definitely the King of Comebacks, Sasori Akasuna. Deidara got a figurative kick in the groins at the channelling of offence into defence, dull pain evident on his face by knitted brows and the loss of his smug grin.

“… And brat, put on your decoration. Make it snappy. I don’t want to see your sorry face from getting reinjured.”

Deidara sighed, and did what he was told. Sasori do have a massive point over there, but there was an unimportant loophole which he could wrestle through and deliver a punch, “What, Danna, you do want to see my not – sorry face, un? I mean, I know I’m all good looking and stuff, but no need to make your ogling so obvious.”

“Is there anything wrong with preferring to see someone in one piece instead of a fractured bone sticking out of their skin, brat?”

“Thought you were one sadistic bastard, Danna, un.”

“I am, but there’s a limit to my sadism, in case you haven’t noticed, brat. And do please tell me, what can I gain from having one of my servants badly damaged?”

The chemistry student raised one of his brows, “Uhm, nothing, un?”

“Exactly, brat. One less person for me to order around in the long run. As always, you never think things through, stupid brat.”

“Maybe it’s so, Danna, un. But it’s got nothing to do with my correct perception on fleeting art, un.”

Thus, their Jashin – knows – which of their countless Art Wars began once again.


End file.
